


Conversations In The Surveillance Van

by HalfshellVenus



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/pseuds/HalfshellVenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a restless world inside the surveillance van, at least when Neal's involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations In The Surveillance Van

**Author's Note:**

> A very late birthday present for **tsuki_no_bara**. Sorry this took so long to finish!

Peter turned up the volume on the parabolic microphone, hoping he could hear it over the fidgeting sounds behind him. The source of the sounds was the same as always.

Neal.

"How much longer 'til we give up?" Neal finally asked.

Peter's eyes flicked over to him, not for the first time that afternoon. "Tomorrow."

Neal's head whipped up. " _Tomorr—_ "

"Oh come on, Neal," Peter said. "We've only been sitting in this van for an hour."

"Seems longer," Neal mumbled. He shifted around some more, loosening the tie that he wore even when it wasn't necessary.

Peter shook his head. "What is it with you and surveillance, anyway? How did you ever manage to case out galleries and museums for your burglaries, if you have this much trouble on a stakeout?"

Neal sat back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. "If you remember," he said, "I never actually admitted to robbing _anything_."

"Fine," Peter muttered. He peered more closely at the camera display for the building's side exit. "If you ever _theoretically_ cased out a spot for _any reason_ , how were you able to tolerate the boredom?"

'Ah," Neal said. "Music. Games. Things like that."

"Games," Peter repeated. "Like 'I Spy With My Little Eye'? Or 'Name the Presidents'?"

"Or 'What if?' As in, _What if Shelley had had water wings?_ Or, _If you were Freud, what would have been on your bucket list?_ "

Peter looked at him, aghast.

"Hey, I didn't say we played it _often_ ," Neal laughed. "But it helps to have a variety of distractions."

"What about food?" Peter asked.

"Food! Yes—that'd be great."

"I didn't mean _now_ ," Peter said. "I meant in _general_."

"We had food back then," Neal said. "We _believed_ in food."

"You make it sound like I'm starving you," Peter protested. "I brought lunch."

"No offense," Neal said, "but deviled ham is _not_ food. Not in the FDA-approved sense."

"Hah-hah. How'd you know—"

"I smelled it as soon as I got into the van.

"Oh." Peter turned away and fiddled with a couple of knobs. He really _liked_ deviled ham. "Well how about this: I'll buy you lunch as soon as we wrap this thing up."

Neal looked unconvinced. "How long will that—"

"He's coming," Peter interrupted. "There, around the corner."

"Okay, let's do it." Neal tightened his tie and straightened his jacket. "And then lunch—you promised."

"I know I did. Hurry up and get out there, Neal. But make it look casual…."

"I _have_ done this before, Peter."

"Aha!"

Neal rolled his eyes. "In the last _two months_. You were there."

"Oh." Peter fidgeted. "Yeah."

Neal grabbed the door handle, and delivered his parting shot before stepping outside:

"And lunch, Peter? Think cloth napkins, not a food cart or deli."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Geez, a few deviled ham sandwiches and he was marked for life.

  
 _\--------- fin ---------_   



End file.
